Silent Angel
by Wild Concerto
Summary: Since her birth, Meg Giry has been raised in the famous Opera Populaire, under the regard of her mother. But, when Christine comes in, though they become best friends, Meg is more and more kept in her shadow, and accepts it willingly… But as time goes, she wants more and more to leave her mark. ALW based, with Mme Giry and eventually Meg's point of view. Rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone! **

**So as I said in my fanfic **_**Let It Go**_**, here's a new story, an E/M Phanfic, because seriously, there aren't much of those out there actually and that don't mix up with Love Never Dies! It's my second fanfic, I'm so proud of myself… XD So enjoy, and please review… It would really make my day! To show you how it's important to me, I take time to answer every review I get. ;) I'll just remind (or tell you, for those of you who didn't read my **_**Let It Go **_**fanfic) that I'm not English-speaking, but French… So I'm sorry for the few grammar mistakes here and there, but I'm making efforts every day to get better (and I must say that since I started fanfic, my English really improved…) **

_**Silent Angel**_** will be divided in parts. The first part will cover the events before POTO, with at first Mme Giry's POV, then Meg's, when she'll be a little bit older. The second book will be POTO itself, with Meg's point of view, and the third will be after POTO. Just to warn you, the fluff is gonna come in the third. But stay tuned anyway. XD**

**So enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or situations coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera, nor Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain.**

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**PART ONE**

_Toute parée, aux yeux du Ciel qui la contemple,  
Elle marche vers Dieu comme une épouse au Temple ;  
Son beau front est serein et pur comme un beau lis,  
Et d'un voile d'azur il soulève les plis ;  
Ses cheveux, partagés comme des gerbes blondes,  
Dans les vapeurs de l'air perdent leurs molles ondes,  
Comme on voit la comète errante dans les cieux  
Fondre au sein de la nuit ses rayons gracieux ;  
Une rose aux lueurs de l'aube matinale  
N'a pas de son teint frais la rougeur virginale ;  
Et la lune, des bois éclairant l'épaisseur,  
D'un de ses doux regards n'atteint pas la douceur.  
Ses ailes sont d'argent ; sous une pâle robe,  
Son pied blanc tour à tour se montre et se dérobe,  
Et son sein agité, mais à peine aperçu,  
Soulève les contours du céleste tissu.  
C'est une femme aussi, c'est une Ange charmante ;  
Car ce peuple d'Esprits, cette famille aimante,  
Qui, pour nous, près de nous, prie et veille toujours,  
Unit sa pure essence en de saintes amours..._

_Éloa ou la Soeur des Anges, _Alfred de Vigny.

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**Chapter 1**

Today was Antoinette Roussel's big day.

She had tried her very best not to cry too much when she had said goodbye to her mother and her little brother Petit-François. But it was hard. After all, Thérèse Roussel had made so many sacrifices so her daughter could continue taking ballet lessons after the death of her husband, since money was running short. Antoinette's ballet mistress had assured Madame Roussel that her daughter absolutely possessed natural talent, and that she could even think of becoming a professional dancer later, in a ballet company or an Opera. And Mme Roussel, seeing how much Antoinette was passionate about dancing and how it would be heartbreaking for her to stop, had accepted to work even harder in order to be able to pay her dance lessons, refusing proudly any offers coming from the ballet mistress to train her for free.

Antoinette, with her early maturity at fifteen years old, was conscious of her mother's sacrifices for her. Like her mother, she was ready to almost kill herself to be the best, in order to please her mother and to make her dream of perhaps becoming a prima ballerina come true. Finally came the day of the auditions, were she had to go to Lyon to perform a choreography in front of a jury, coming straight from the Opera Populaire, in Pairs who were to decide who, among the young ballerinas in Lyon and in the vicinity, would become part of the ballet chorus.

When her ballet mistress had talked to her about this audition, Antoinette, though she was interiorly trembling just at the thought of it, had accepted to take on the quest, determined to be the best of the young girls who would audition for a place among the ballet chorus. She had practiced, even harder than ever. And when the audition came, she felt absolutely no fear: she was ready, and if she was to fail, it wouldn't be her fault. That was it. And, during her performance, everything went to perfection, for what was of her point of view and her ballet mistress'. But the jury's face was absolutely undecipherable.

A week later, the list of the selected girls for a place at the Opera Populaire finally arrived. And Antoinette was more than proud to see that among all the girls in Lyon and in the vicinity, she had the highest mark.

The adieu she gave to her family was rather bitter-sweet: everyone knew Antoinette was going to have a comfortable life, thanks to her talent, and perhaps be famous across Europe if ever she became prima ballerina, but Antoinette, Petit-François and Mme Roussel were conscious that they would probably never see each other again. The mother reminded her daughter to recite every day her Rosary for herself but more especially for her family, and the little brother, a mischievous, funny little elf who never complained about anything nor cried, was sobbing like a Madeleine and was unable to let go of his older sister.

She had rode to Paris on a train, along with the other girls who had been selected with her, and, in a childish way, they had looked at the landscape parading so fast in front of their eyes. It was the first time, anyway, that they were taking the train, this amazing invention who had just been installed throughout France!

And, when Paris' silhouette finally appeared in front of the girls' amazed eyes, Antoinette Roussel, for a moment, believed she had entered the Bible's Promised Land of Canaan.

As soon as the girls got off the train, their new ballet mistress, Mme Saint-Périer, accompanied by other girls coming from every corner imaginable in France, received them and immediately leaded them towards the Opera Populaire, since the last group to have arrived was Antoinette's. Very quickly, the girls had started to chatter, not at all intimidated, and somehow aware that they would probably pass the next ten or fifteen years together, in the same dormitory, to share (almost) every element of their daily lives.

When they finally arrived in front of the Opera Populaire, the girls, observed by the benevolent and amused eye of Mme Saint-Périer, all stopped in front of the imposing baroque-style façade, dominated by the Greek god Apollo, holding his lyre, surrounded by the nine Muses, protectors of the art in all its forms.

"Look!" said the first girl to have got out of her ecstasy. She had pointed towards a group of gipsy caravans, placed not too far from the Opera Populaire, to show that slowly, they were preparing many attractions for the onlookers. Immediately, the girls' curiosity attracted them towards the mysteries behind the tents which were getting ready.

"Not now, girls!" said Mme Saint-Périer, interrupting them in their soon-to-come momentum towards the gipsy camp. "You will have to get installed first. But don't worry," she added with a smile, seeing the disappointed look of many girls. "As soon as you will be installed, I'll let you free time on an evening to go and see everything."

Immediately, the ballet mistress headed towards the entrance of the Opera house, followed by the girls. There was only Antoinette Roussel who, for a moment, stayed a little bit behind, mysteriously attracted by the gipsy camp, like if something was calling her there. Shrugging at this superstitious impression, Antoinette, without further ado, followed the others into the Opera Populaire, entering for good in her new life.

* * *

Three days later, the girls' trunks were all unpacked and they were all well settled in the ballet chorus' dormitory. While most of them had decided to socialize and to get to know each other better, Antoinette had preferred to explore the Opera Populaire. It wasn't because she was rather unsociable, but she though he was stubborn and had a strong character, she was introvert and reserved. And anyway, exploring the corridors of the Opera, with its baroque architecture which was even sometimes gloomy and mysterious, was much more interesting. And, with her natural excellent sense of orientation, she knew, at the end of those three days, almost every corner of the Opera Populaire. Yes, indeed, _almost every corner_.

Her favorite place was the chapel. With its darkness and its thick stone wall, people would say it was rather gloomy. But Antoinette, on the contrary, found it somehow reassuring. It reminded her of the chapel where she, her mother and Petit-François used to go on Sundays. It was a very old place, built, following the tradition, during the reign of Clovis himself. And the ancient appearance of the Opera Populaire chapel could only remind her of home, and in such a pleasant way.

That evening, six girls, including Antoinette, received permission from Mme Saint-Périer to go and see the gypsies' attractions, but not to come back too late, since they were officially starting to "work" tomorrow. As they got closer to the caravans, Antoinette suddenly regretted to have decided to go there, since everything seemed filthy, now that they were getting closer. But the strange pull she had felt when she had first seen the gipsy camp had just continued to torment her while she was unpacking and exploring the Opera house. She just had to go. She just had to.

The first tent they entered was a fortune teller. Patiently, Antoinette waited for her turn, accepting to be the last one. Meanwhile, while a witch-like old woman with only two teeth left was telling to each girl their future, the young ballerina couldn't help noticing how ridiculous those forecasts were. It seemed like the fortune teller was making money just by telling the girls what they wanted to know: a handsome and rich husband, a beautiful house, lots of lovely dresses and jewelry… It was ridiculous. For a moment, Antoinette thought of simply saying she was not interested, but, when her turn came, and that she was going to refuse, using the excuse that she was just "accompanying", the fortune teller had immediately stopped her:

"Won't you come, mademoiselle? I'm ready to make a free predicament for you. I can sense that you possess an old soul like there are so few of them."

Intrigued, though she was wondering if it wasn't some trap to get a little more money, Antoinette sat down, and observed the old woman placing her hand on her crystal ball. Suddenly, the fortune teller's eyes seemed to have become ten times bigger, and for a moment, Antoinette was wondering if she had some sort of apoplexy attack or if she had become totally insane. But no need of running away came to her. Some sort of morbid fascination was holding her there.

Finally, the fortune teller muttered these words, which would stay engraved in Antoinette's memory forever, and which she would understand the significance only many, many years later.

"I see fire, and in the fire, I see an Emperor with his Empress!"

As soon as she had pronounced those fatal words, the fortune teller's head crashed on her little table, and moved no more. For a moment, the girls started to panic, thinking that the old woman was dead, and one of them even started a hysteria crisis. But soon, as they saw that the fortune teller was still breathing, her back lifting up regularly, they decided it was better to just get out of the tent.

But the fortune teller's words, like the oracle of Delphos, were haunting Antoinette's mind. Fire. An Emperor with his Empress. These words, for now, meant nothing to her.

Quickly, the girls headed towards a shack, which contained a freak-show. Quickly, the girls squeezed together, terrified of the monsters which were surrounding them in their cages: a bearded woman, a man with one eye in the middle of the forehead… Only Antoinette seemed not to be too impressed (though interiorly, it was quite the contrary), and soon, the girls stayed close to her.

A cage, at the end of the shack, caught their attention, especially with the enormous sign which was above it, with the inscription "The Devil's Child". As the girls got closer, they could see, in a corner of the cage, all curled up, a child, so thin he was almost skeleton-like, wearing a little potato sack on his head, with only two holes in it in order for him to see something, playing with a grubby little toy monkey in a somehow absent-minded way, and, for time to time looking quickly around him, like a deer knowing a hunter is after him. And Antoinette, who was paying close attention to him, almost hypnotized by his sight, could see terror in his eyes shadowed by the little potato sack, but also, some sort of strangely sinister maturity she was horrified to see in a child who seemed so young.

For a moment, the child's eyes came across hers, and stayed fixed. And even Antoinette couldn't gaze away.

Soon, the girls weren't the only ones around the so-called "Devil's Child" cage. Other people had started gathering around it, and soon, there was maybe fifteen persons around. Finally, a man, with dark skin, black hair, a long beard and rat-like eyes came out. And as he started talking, Antoinette frowned of disgust. His voice was somehow high-pitched and nasal, and immediately, she associated it with how she used to imagine the devil's voice to be.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he started, doing great gestures with his hand. "Stranger than you ever dreamt it, will you even dare to look at… the Devil's Child!"

With a very quick gesture, the gipsy ripped off the sack from the child's face, revealing a little boy, trying desperately to hide his face from the people, but, as his master pulled his hair, the so-called Devil's Child gasped and let his hands fall, revealing a severe disfigurement.

The top of his head, on the left side, was almost bald, and, again on the left side of his face, on his forehead, his cheek and his upper lip, his skin seemed to crackle, showing something that reminded of a brain which had been torn to pieces.

Immediately, the girls turned away in disgust, to go somewhere else, as the boy's master was starting to whip him. But Antoinette couldn't turn away. She felt that if she did, she was signing the boy's death act. She felt tears dripping on her cheeks, as she watched people starting to throw garbage on the child. How could they be so cruel? This couldn't be the world Antoinette Roussel had always known… Did she, accidently, fell into Hell? Was this some bad dream?

She pinched herself until she felt tears in her eyes. No. This was the real world.

When finally, the master retired, the boy immediately seized his potato sack and covered his head with it, taking a piece of rope to play with it and retiring to a dark corner of his cage. But just before, his sight, once again, met Antoinette's, who was now the only one staying in front of his prison. The young ballerina had trouble to say how he felt when he was looking at her… But she could see a strange twinkle in his eyes, a twinkle she couldn't describe.

It was when the boy had retired completely into darkness, not to be seen anymore, that Antoinette finally decided to go away, though for a moment, she wished she could get the cage's key to help him escape… She just couldn't leave him there.

It was only when she heard a door squeaking that she turned back. The master was back, bringing what seemed to be a pitcher certainly filled with water.

Meanwhile, the boy was just behind him. For a quick instant, Antoinette, who had hidden behind crates, saw him looking quickly at his piece of rope, than in the shack, which had been seemingly deserted, than at his master. And, quicker than she would have ever imagined him to be, the boy rushed towards the gipsy and, in a swift move, put the rope around his neck, crossed it right behind him, and pulled.

The master, taken by surprise, coughed violently, and tried to reach towards his neck to free himself from the rope which was strangling him, but the effort was too much for him. Soon, in front of Antoinette's horrified eyes, he collapsed on the ground, seemingly dead.

She saw the boy hastily searching something in his dead master's pockets, and finally, a key came out. The key of his cage. He immediately inserted it, and opened the door. Antoinette, hardly knowing the reason why she was doing this, rushed to him and took him gently by the hand, ignoring his reaction.

"Come quick! I'll hide you!"

Antoinette spotted a door on the side of the shack, and ran towards it. It opened on the left wing of the Opera Populaire. Without any idea of where they were going to hide, Antoinette simply rushed in the alley, the boy still following her, swept along by her hand's firm clutch, almost docile. And thank God he did, for the two heard, very soon, cries coming from the shack. Probably the master's dead body had been found. Antoinette knew that she had absolutely no time to lose.

They were now at the back of the Opera Populaire building. But they would probably be found very soon, and since Antoinette, indirectly, had been the boy's accomplice, she would probably be arrested with him. And she didn't want that to happen. She looked around her, worried, when she saw, on the bottom of the wall just in front of her, a stained-glass window, opened.

The chapel's window was just in front of them.

Immediately, Antoinette knew how to save the boy from his miserable life. No one, besides her, ever came to the chapel, and there were so many corners in there to hide if it ever happened. For now, it would be the perfect hiding place for her little friend.

"Quick!" whispered Antoinette. "Jump in there, and if someone comes in, hide in a corner. There are plenty of those."

Without further ado, and without a look, the boy opened the window and jumped into the chapel. Antoinette approached, and saw his silhouette getting up from his fall. She sighed. He was safe, now.

"Don't worry," whispered Antoinette, just before running towards an entrance to go back to the dormitory, like if nothing had happened. "I'll come back tonight."

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**How was it? Don't forget to let a review, it will encourage me to continue! ;) **


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't get many reviews! I was hoping for three or four, but oh well… After all, when I started **_**Let It Go**_**, it did took a while before having a lot of reviews… So don't forget to leave a little word, even if you didn't like… ;) **

**And big thanks to those who did take time to review, it means the world to me! ;) **

**Answers to reviews: **

**Aria: **Thank you so much for encouraging me! It's really what keeps me going. Thanks again. ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks, ;)

**Disclaimer: (goes also for chapter 1, and all the other chapters in this book, because seriously, it's annoying to ALWAYS write the same thing) I do not own anything coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera (because if I did, we would have seen a better Love Never Dies), nor Susan Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain.**

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**Chapter 2**

Antoinette headed back towards the dormitory, looking as casual as she could, when the girls who had accompanied her to the gipsy camp rushed towards her.

"Oh, Antoinette, where were you? We've been looking for you everywhere? We were so afraid you were still in that filthy shack."

"I got out after the show was finished," answered Antoinette, interiorly asking herself how she managed to stay so calm. "Then I got out and wandered around in the street… I didn't feel like staying near the camp anymore…"

"We didn't stay there either. Oh, that show was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," replied Antoinette. "And that poor child…"

"That disgusting little thing? Ugh! No wonder he finished up there! Have you heard the news? He strangled his master!"

"I can sort of understand why," continued Antoinette, gloomily.

The girls, for a moment, stared at her, some unbelievingly, others disdainfully, and turned away, not continuing the conversation. Anyway, Antoinette didn't feel like talking about it anymore.

She felt nothing but disgust. Not towards a poor innocent boy who never had luck, but towards her companions. How could they be so superficial? All they seemed to see was the disfigurement they had contemplated and the horrible fact that, at so young an age, he had committed a murder.

But Antoinette could see so much more in him. Was he ever taught of what was right and what was wrong? Did he have a mother to love him since his birth? Where his disfigurement came from, she had no idea. Was it a birth defect? Was it a terrible accident? She preferred not to imagine the horrible scenarios which implicated the latter.

She didn't dare to think about the girls' reaction to the knowledge that she had helped him to escape. If ever the boy was discovered, it would certainly be easy for people to find out she had been his accomplice… Accomplice of a murder… Antoinette trembled at the idea of what could await her. But strangely, she felt absolutely no regrets. Somehow, she knew she had done the right thing. And that was it.

That night, she could do nothing but thinking of the little boy, hidden in the chapel, waiting impatiently for the moment where she could go see him. She remembered the strange attraction she had felt towards the gipsy camp, the very day she had arrived to the Opera Populaire. Was she meant to come across the boy's path?

Maybe.

It was when midnight rang that Antoinette finally decided it was time for her to go and see her protégé. Almost all the ballerinas were asleep in the dormitory, and by "almost", it meant some of them who, thankfully (well… considering the situation) were out with whom the elder dancers would call, with a lot of tact, their "beaux". She would be able to get out, without being bothered by a curious girl.

Quickly, she got up silently, shivering a bit in her nightgown, and reached under her bed, where she had kept secretly a few leftovers from her supper: a cup of water, bread, a piece of cheese and a bit of ham. The poor child was probably famished, thin like he was.

Antoinette got out of the dormitory, not even with a candle to guide her in the darkness, since she was afraid of being seen. Thankfully, the darkness in the corridors wasn't complete, but it sort of gave a supernatural gloom to them. For a moment, Antoinette shivered. _The place looks haunted. _But the thought of the Opera Populaire seized under the grasp of some ghost was so ridiculous to her that she mentally laughed at herself and, finally, she arrived in front of the chapel's door.

Slowly, she opened it, so the boy wouldn't be too surprised of his entrance. Antoinette peered around, trying to find his silhouette in the shadows, but he was nowhere to be seen. Or he had followed her orders… or he had run away. Antoinette crossed her fingers so it wouldn't be the second option, which had struck her violently. Seriously, this was the most probable thing that would have happened, and she hadn't even thought of it… But where would he go, anyway?

Closing her eyes tightly, Antoinette's voice rang in the dark, as softly as she could:

"It's me… Are you there?"

No answer. The evidence of her hypothesis became more and more evident. Antoinette tried one last attempt:

"I brought some food…"

Finally, a silhouette distinguished itself from the darkness and, shyly, the boy came out, his potato sack still on his head. His shoulders, lifted up because of the tension, immediately lowered. Antoinette also felt pressure leaving her, happy that her protégé hadn't ran away.

"Did anyone come while you were here?"

The boy nodded negatively. Great. The chapel would be a good hiding place, at least for a while.

With a little smile, Antoinette sat on the floor, putting down the plate of bread, cheese and ham and the cup of water. For a moment, the boy seemed afraid of touching it, but, when he saw Antoinette's encouraging face, without further ado, he almost jumped on his supper, still keeping his sack on, slipping his mouthfuls under it and into his mouth, eating so voraciously that the ballerina felt a sob lifting up in her throat. But soon, she remembered something very important her mother had told her about eating with a very empty stomach…

"Don't eat too fast," she said speedily, "or you'll throw up." The boy let go of the piece of bread he was holding, and seemed somehow afraid of touching the food again. Immediately, Antoinette added: "Take your time. No one will take your meal from you."

The boy looked into the ballerina's eyes, and for the first time, she was surprised of what she had seen: it was different from the murderous, too mature and terrified gaze she had seen from the shack. There was now thankfulness, but also, a gleam showing a great intelligence. It was hard to describe. It was just there, and Antoinette could do nothing but feel it.

It was only then that she attempted to know him better. Did he have a name? Certainly. But the boy didn't seem too talkative.

"I'm Antoinette," she started softly. "Do you have a name?"

It took a while before the boy answered, and the ballerina thought, for a moment, that he was going to remain silent.

"Erik," he finally answered.

A crystalline, musical voice had pronounced this name. For a moment, Antoinette thought someone had answered at the boy's place. But it was truly him who had spoken. It contrasted so much with his appearance, she remarked somehow sullenly. It was then that she thought he seriously needed a bath and new clothes. He couldn't stay like this. Well, it would be difficult for the clothes… maybe if she searched in the costume department, she could find something. But he definitely needed a bath. NOW.

"Um… do you want to take a bath?"

Antoinette felt incredibly foolish of asking him this. But she didn't really know how else she could get him to soap himself a bit.

"How?" was his practical question.

The ballerina thought intently for a second.

"There a bowl in the dormitory I could carry here easily," she said, talking for herself as much as she was talking to Erik. "I could go to the kitchen and get the hot water that is in reserve there, since I was told there was always some, and I have soap and a sponge for my personal use." Without further ado, Antoinette got up to her feet, and after whispering "I'll be back!", she rushed towards the kitchen, seizing the big kettle resting near the fireplace, and happy to see it was full of hot water, she dragged it more than she carried it towards the chapel, since it was very heavy.

She entered, and putting down the kettle, glancing quickly at Erik with a little smile, she headed towards the dormitory, for the most difficult part of her plan.

It was easy to go to her bed, open the drawer of her night table and to get her sponge and her soap without waking anybody, and placing them in the bowl to carry it out towards the chapel... But it was only as she walked in the corridors that she realized that she had one major problem: how would she empty out the bowl when she would be finished with it? Well, she could hide it in the chapel for a while and find a way… Anyway, the room seemed abandoned, and the candles which had been lit there had been all lit by Antoinette, a few days earlier, on her first visit, to bring in a little light. She would just have to look as innocent as possible when Mme Saint-Périer would ask them where the bowl had gone…

Antoinette entered the chapel, to see Erik always waiting patiently for her, his sack well placed. She deposited the bowl on the ground, placed the sponge and the soap just beside it, seized the kettle and poured all the hot water in it. There was just enough for a bath… though Erik was so dirty Antoinette was afraid she would have to change the water anyway… And how to get some more, she had no idea.

Slowly, Erik unbuttoned his shirt, revealing still bleeding scars on his torso and stopped, seemingly embarrassed, not daring to take off nor his pants nor, of course, his improvised mask. Antoinette, retaining herself from sobbing because of such a heartbreaking sight, asked as calmly as she could:

"Do you need any help?"

"No," Erik answered, somehow disdainfully. With a quick gesture of the head, he gestured to Antoinette to turn around, to allow himself more privacy. Still with tears in her eyes, but with the shadow of a smile, the ballerina couldn't help herself from wondering if he wasn't some lost prince kidnapped from his royal family when he was still an infant.

About two minutes later, Antoinette, who had heard just before the murmur of clothing being tossed on the floor, than nothing, finally distinguished the sound of teeth snapping nervously. It was only then that she dared to turn around, to see Erik, without his "mask", completely naked, curled up, shivering almost in a feverish way. Immediately, when he saw that Antoinette was looking at him, he turned away with a smothered cry, hiding his disfigurement as much as he could.

Without further ado, Antoinette rushed to the bowl, plunging the sponge in, touched Erik gently on the shoulder, and, as delicately as she could, she turned his head towards her, and started cleaning it, like if he was a little child. And, strangely, the boy let her.

Now that his face was clean, Antoinette could see his disfigurement very well. The left side of his face wasn't pretty at all, to talk delicately. The right side… well, she realized with pain that if it wasn't for that curse he had been struck with, he could have been a rather lovely child. And somehow, he reminded her a bit of Petit-François, her own little brother, though he was his total contrary. Where Erik was sullen and taciturn, Petit-François was joyful and talkative. Mentally shaking herself a bit, she was going to take the soap to clean up the rest of his body when Erik suddenly stopped her.

"I can do the rest," he whispered roughly.

Antoinette didn't feel offended one bit of his coarseness. After all, she sort of understood why… With a soft grin, she turned away, once again, to let him finish his bath by himself.

"Thank you," she suddenly heard, behind her. She turned back to Erik, to see that a very thin shadow of a smile had appeared, finally, on his face. A wide grin answered Erik's, and immediately, Antoinette, feeling less intimidated, said:

"I'll try to go into the costume department and get you new clothes… Probably I could find something your size…"

* * *

"Antoinette! Antoinette, wake up!"

In a jump, the ballerina woke up, to see Valentine Bouchard, a soloist and one of the elder ballerinas, shaking her gently.

"Today is your big day! The hard work is starting," Valentine added, with a little wink.

Just the thought of it made Antoinette want to crash back on her bed. Three o'clock had wrung at the clock when finally, without making any noise, she had gone back into her bed, in the ballerinas' dormitory. Erik was all settled in the chapel, with clean clothes (a pageboy costume she had found by slipping in quickly in the costume department, and which seemed to be Erik's size). Not knowing what to do with the bowl, full of dirty water, Erik and Antoinette had pushed it in an unseen corner. She had worried, for a moment, about the boy's bed, but he had shrugged, saying that he didn't sleep much, anyway. After making Erik promise that he would stay unseen in the chapel, she had headed back to go to sleep… but she was totally unable of it.

This situation wouldn't last forever. Erik couldn't always stay in that chapel, with only the leftovers of her meals that she could bring him only at night, for she didn't feel it was safe enough to come and see him during the day. And she had to find a way and fast.

All day, Antoinette fought very hard against the temptation of thinking of Erik. Today, she had to prove to the ballet mistress of what she was capable of. And she was satisfied to see that often, Mme Saint-Périer complimented her. Her mother would be proud of her, when she would tell her all about it in her next letter…

Once again, when the clock struck midnight, Antoinette, who had kept a bit of her supper for Erik, headed back silently towards the chapel.

When she entered silently, whispering: "Erik? It's me, Antoinette," she was surprised to see her protégé immediately heading towards her, a white half-mask hiding his disfigurement, though not completely, since Antoinette could still see the bald part of his head, and seemingly excited. That was quite a change…

"I found a secret passageway!" he gasped.

The ballerina's eyes widened. "How… did you find it?"

"I had nothing else to do," Erik shrugged. "It goes everywhere in the Opera house! I can see almost everything! And there are even secret doors to different rooms."

"Be careful," Antoinette immediately added. "If someone hears you…"

"It will never happen," Erik replied, seemingly insulted. Once again, Antoinette pinched herself not to laugh. With his little arrogant looks, she was once again wondering if he wasn't some cursed prince kidnapped by a witch and sent to that gipsy camp. Without further ado, she showed Erik the food she had brought him.

"I've kept this for you…"

"Thank you, but I took some in the kitchen. There's a door in the secret passageway leading there…"

"ERIK!" Antoinette shouted, before realizing she had spoken a bit too loudly.

"No one saw me," Erik replied. "I learned how to take things and stay unseen, you know."

The ballerina looked down, and sighed.

"If you ever need something, though… You can tell me. I'll always do my best."

* * *

**And here you go! Don't forget to let a little review! ;) **


	3. Chapter 3

**I got more reviews this time! Yay! Thank you so much to those who took time to review, it really makes my day and it encourages me to continue! **

**So here's another chapter!**

**Answers to reviews:**

**Savannah White: **Thanks. ;) Antoinette/Erik mother/son relationship... It's sooo beautiful, and it's so fun to write about it.

**Lydia the tygeropean: **You understood everything. ;)

**TraceyLynnFrame: **Thanks! It will take a while before Meg comes in... But not too long! ;)

**Aria: **It's true you don't read much about this part of Erik's life... But that's where (almost) everything winds up for him. About Erik being already cocky... it's in his nature, and at the same time, it's a way of self-defense. I don't know who built the secret passageways... I have theories, but anyway... ;)

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Within the next two weeks, Antoinette didn't need to go to the chapel anymore at night to check on Erik, on his own demand. The boy, though he stayed very slender, seemed to gain more strength and a little more color, though Antoinette saw quickly that he had a very pale complexion.

Sometimes, when Antoinette was all alone, in the kitchen, or in some room, Erik would often simply… pop in, and make the ballerina jump, and would be scold about the fact that someone could see him. And each time, Erik would shrug. But thankfully, they were almost never interrupted. When it happened, the boy would disappear in the blink of an eye, so quickly that Antoinette even came to wonder if he didn't just vanish in the air.

Meanwhile, she was progressing more and more in ballet, and Mme Saint-Périer even declared that of all the girls who had arrived on that year, she was the best. And, in the correspondence she shared with her mother, her biggest joy was to see all the pride Mme Roussel had for her daughter. They were all doing very well, back at Lyon. Petit-François was still as mischievous as usual… And strangely, when Antoinette would read the letters that her brother sent her, in his clumsy handwriting which let so many orthographical mistakes, she couldn't help thinking of Erik, at the same time… In her relationship with the boy, who was so different of Petit-François, though it remained somehow distant because of Erik's sullenness, she was indeed often reprimanding him for him sneaking in all over the Opera house thanks to the secret passageways. God knew how they were built, but they seemed to go everywhere. To travel in those tunnels was one thing, and it was already seemingly dangerous to Antoinette, but to simply pop out like he did was dangerous. Erik didn't seem to care about her warnings. But somehow, the ballerina knew that, though he didn't show it much to her, he had some sort of affection for her. A bit like with her own impossible little brother, though it was in a different way.

Three weeks after Erik's rescue, things started to disappear. At first, it was a few accessories for productions. Antoinette wasn't too surprised to realize that they were mostly clothes, and cushions, cloaks, old curtains… Erik had probably taken them for his own use, to dress himself and to make himself a nest or something. Seemingly, what Antoinette had given him wasn't enough. She felt a bit of resentment because of all the precautions she had taken, and, beside a few bitter remarks to Erik, who would shrugged like he did usually, she didn't complain furthermore.

Erik seemed to get settled. That was the most important thing. Antoinette didn't know how, but somehow, she hoped that one day, maybe he would show her how he installed himself, by simple curiosity… but she wasn't too sure that it would actually happen.

For what was of her, routine had started to install itself, and it wasn't to displease her, after all the changes she had faced during the last three weeks, especially with the fact that some of them were quite unexpected. Every day, she would practice with the rest of the ballet chorus, as they were preparing for _Giselle_.

Her life had her lows, with some of the older ballerinas who would constantly rag her, but Antoinette would royally ignore them. She really couldn't care less. Anyway, they were no more than sluts… in every meaning of the word, and Antoinette didn't feel embarrassed at all of thinking of them in such a way. It was the truth, and that was it.

Those "attacks" came more and more often, until the point where they started spreading rumors about Antoinette. And the ballerina, who was genuinely starting to get tired of all this, would find some place to stay isolated so they wouldn't find her and find a reason to start their harassment again. It wasn't that she was afraid of confronting them, no, not at all… But you better not give a dog a chance to bite.

Anyway, it was in those moments where Erik would pop in and see her. He never talked much, and neither did Antoinette, but those little moments were somehow comforting for both of them.

Came a day when Erik, getting out of his usual silence, asked:

"Why are those ballerinas always after you?"

Antoinette lifted up her head, surprised of the boy actually speaking, and interested in something concerning her everyday life.

"I don't know," shrugged Antoinette. "I think they're jealous. Anyway, they could do an effort to do better, instead of spending their nights with their lovers and…"

The ballerina interrupted herself suddenly, remembering who was with her, and glimpsed towards Erik, hoping that he didn't understand totally what she meant.

"I know, I saw them and observed them one night," the boy said, with a hint of disgust in his voice.

"ERIK!" shouted Antoinette. My God, was he observing people doing… not very catholic stuff now?

"Don't worry, I didn't look for too long," sighed Erik, exasperated.

"A minute is already too much," said Antoinette sharply.

A moment passed without anything happening.

"Why aren't you trying to make them pay back?"

Antoinette jumped at Erik's question. But she wasn't too surprised of him making such an affirmation. After all, he probably was raised his whole life that way… Eye by eye, tooth by tooth. Yes, the ballerina knew that she was no saint, and if she was asked if she was ready to forgive what the girls did to her, she would say rather no than yes. But she didn't want to look for trouble or give them an occasion of doing so. Revenging? Really, it would just make things worse.

"I just don't. It's useless. It's better to let them bark as much as they want. I don't care."

Erik turned away. It didn't take much for Antoinette to guess that he wasn't agreeing at all.

* * *

A shriek of disgust and of terror woke up all the ballerinas, and some of them lit up candles to see what was going on. They all looked up to where it came from. Léonie Tardivel had stumbled towards her neighbor's bed, staying as far as she could from her own… It was swarming with black rats.

Like if they were one soul, all the ballerinas cried at the same time, including Antoinette, and all grouped to a corner of the room, not even daring to get closer to the bed were the rats were running around. When one of them slipped on the floor, a dozen girls immediately climbed on the nearest bed, causing its base to break because of the weight.

Finally, the uproar was interrupted by Mme Saint-Périer, dressed in her nightgown, who entered, holding a candle and looking truly furious.

"May I know, Mesdemoiselles, what on Earth is going on?"

Almost all the girls started talking at the same time, in the most incomprehensible way. But they were all pointing towards Léonie's bed, and the ballet mistress understood very quickly the cause of their fear. With a snort of disgust, she took a broom, and chased the rats away from the bed, and made sign to Léonie to come and sleep in her own room for the night.

"Now, Mesdemoiselles, I hope that this very bad prank isn't of the resort of one of you," added Mme Saint-Périer, severely.

No one answered. Without further ado, the ballet mistress got out of the dormitory, followed closely by Léonie.

Soon, a few girls turned towards Antoinette.

"I bet you did all this," one of them declared.

"No, I didn't," she answered, truly disgusted. "Do you truly expect _me _to have brought those rats in your bed? It must be one of the stagehands she refused to do _some favor_."

The small group of girls gazed at Antoinette angrily, but it took a while before they added.

"So… how come our things have started to disappear lately? Only OUR things, hmm?"

"I don't know," the ballerina answered, shrugging. "Why would I do that, anyway? That's incredibly childish."

Ignoring their reaction, Antoinette headed towards her bed, and lied down on it. But she didn't go to sleep immediately. No. She knew who was guilty of all this mischief.

Since a few days, well, since she had that discussion with Erik about that group of girls being mean to her, their things, may it be brushes, ribbons, ballet shoes, had started to disappear, so they would find them in very unexpected places… And tonight, there were rats.

This was too much of a hazard. Now, they were suspecting her…

She would have a little talk with Erik about all this.

* * *

The day that followed, at the minute Erik, like he did as usual, crept on Antoinette who was alone, she immediately told him that she knew he was behind all this mischief and that he had to stop, since suspicion was headed towards her. Erik had shrugged, and agreed somehow indolently. If it was someone else, Antoinette wouldn't have been satisfied of such an answer, but having Erik ACTUALLY obeying to her was quite an exploit. But the poor ballerina hadn't seen the malicious glimmer in the boy's eyes…

The following days, every ballerina had a reason to complain about something disappearing, a bizarre object getting inexplicably in their beds, everyone… except Antoinette. But thankfully, in the general uproar, no one actually realized it.

For a moment, the young ballerina thought of grounding Erik for doing this. Seriously, was he incorrigible at that point? But somehow, it sort of comforted her that he acted like this. He was just doing what most little boys of his age would do best: pranks. And her little brother, Petit-François, would never stop doing such things…

So she didn't mention anything about it, afraid, at the same time, that Erik would start playing pranks on her. Many years later, when she would think of that fear she had, she would realize how little she knew Erik back then, and how protective he could be with the people he cared for and loved!

Some of the ballerinas, very fond of those gothic novels which were quite the rage in popular literature, started to cry that a ghost was behind all this. And soon, the wild imagination of the girls, nourished by this crazy hypothesis, became their master. And soon, they would cry, each time some mischief would happen, even if they would discover, after, that it was because of their own negligence that it happened: "It's the Opera Ghost's fault."

Antoinette didn't pay attention to this nonsense, for she knew. Though, now, she would gaze, especially at night, at the baroque dimensions of the Opera Populaire, so grandiose and somehow dark at the same time that it was true you could believe the place was haunted by some wandering and tortured soul. And somehow… it was sort of true.

It was only a few weeks later, when the new conductor, M. Reyer, complained that some of his books in his private library had disappeared. This was too much for Antoinette, for she was sure that Erik probably never learned to read. Why did he need these books, and especially on the subject of music? How could a boy of his age be interested in such things?

"Now, Erik," Antoinette told him, the next time she saw him, "I know it's you who took M. Reyer's books. I said nothing about the rest – the clothes, the curtains, everything – but now, it's really stealing. You… you can't do that!"

Goodness me, was it hard to talk morality to a child who probably never heard the first word of it!

"I didn't steal them," grumbled Erik. "I just borrowed them. I'll put them back just after, I promise, Antoinette."

"Then why did you borrow them?" asked Antoinette, puzzled. "You… you can't read, can you?"

"Of course I can!" Erik replied, offended. "God, Antoinette, if I borrowed those books, it isn't just to gaze at them dumbly."

Antoinette blushed because of her stupidity. Erik was right on that last point.

"Well… how did you learn to read?"

For a moment, the boy did not answer, and the ballerina was certain that he wouldn't. She knew, to be honest, nothing about his past, and she understood Erik's silence on it… It had to be everything but agreeable, and most likely to be forgotten.

But surprisingly, he sighed, and started:

"Just before I was at the gipsy camp, a priest taught me to read. I remember my first book… I learned ventriloquism."

"Really?" Antoinette asked, intrigued. "You mean… how you can speak without moving your lips?"

"Like this?"

The ballerina jumped as the voice echoed on the room's walls. She was positive that Erik hadn't moved his lips… It was only after a few seconds, as she saw the boy's amused smile, very small, but still present and full of mischief, that she understood the trick. She giggled. Her heart was warm, as she saw Erik have another of those really rare moments where he would smile sincerely, and become more similar to other little boys of his age. Yes, to Antoinette, Erik was a boy like another. She had become so close to the mother that she could only think of him that way. Yes, she could see his white mask very well, the bald part of his hair, which was all wild on his head. She remembered, with a shiver, how he had killed his master so coldly… But he was still a little boy.

"That's impressive," Antoinette said, with a smile. "So… you're interested in music now? Well, I suppose M. Reyer's books are all about music."

"I've always been," answered Erik. A minute passed before he continued, in a very soft voice. "I used to creep into the village's church to go to the organ. I just played a few notes on it… It's just amazing what you can do…"

Antoinette listened to Erik dreamily, and smiled. She just had an idea.

"Now… if you want, instead of just _borrowing _books from M. Reyer, do you want me to just ask him so I can lend them to you? He's really nice, and I get along well with him. I'm sure that he won't be able to refuse… Though I just hope the fact he has recently lost some will not make him miserly. I could also go to the library, a few blocks from here, and borrow you some books… You could just tell me the subject you want to read about."

Erik nodded. And smiled again, in that way which comforted Antoinette so much.

"Thank you." he simply said. But for Antoinette Roussel, it meant the world.

Suddenly, Erik got on his feet.

"Can I show you something?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Antoinette replied, interested.

"Then follow me." He leaded Antoinette towards a corner of the little unoccupied room where they were, pushed a curtain and revealed a hidden door to a passageway. Opening it, he and Antoinette penetrated it. For about five minutes, they ran through the tunnel, until they arrived to a staircase that they descended for a long time, until they arrived to a part where the tunnel was larger. On a corner of the room, Antoinette saw, with few surprise, all the accessories which had disappeared, all arranged into some sort of bed which looked a bit like a nest.

Antoinette retained a tear of joy, and laughed at herself for reacting in such a way. But she knew that Erik must have such a big trust in her to show her where he had installed himself. And suddenly, as she paid close attention to the environment surrounding them, she heard the sound of water flowing not too far away from them.

"What's that noise? Do you know?" asked Antoinette.

"There's an underground lake not too far, at the end of the passageway," answered Erik. "I never crossed it, actually. But I will one day."

"Be careful."

"I'm not a little kid anymore," pouted Erik.

* * *

**Here you go guys! Don't forget to let a review; it really encourages me to continue!**


	4. Chapter 4

**New chapter! With new characters! Or maybe... ;) **

**Answers to reviews:**

**Aria: **Yup, Erik is already starting to get protective... Tee-hee.

I do want to show how the Phantom of the Opera actually became the Phantom of the Opera. And show also a lot of other unexplained things... And yes, Madame Giry IS Superman. And Meg is truly her daughter. ;)

Thank you so much for your continuing support, I'm really touched by it! *Virtual hug*

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks. ;)

**Erik's Angel Forever: **Thanks! Glad you like little Erik. ;)

**ElsaFrozen: **Thanks! ;) And who doesn't love Erik/Madame moments?

**Geezworld234: **Thank you! ;)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Antoinette kept her promise. As much as she could, to answer to the demands of the avid reader Erik was, she would go regularly to the library, looking out for categories he would ask her for. She was surprised to see the variety of interests the child had, especially at such a young age… Then she would remember the glimmer of intelligence she could always see in his eyes. Erik was more than deeply intelligent. She could only but feel it.

Sometimes, it was about architecture, sometimes, languages, sometimes, oddities. The librarian, now, knew Antoinette quite well and often teased her, asking her if she wanted to become a scholar instead of a ballerina… Antoinette would laugh a bit and shrug. She was just happy that he didn't ask any other questions…

The young ballerina, thankfully, had the delicacy of waiting a while before asking M. Reyer if she could borrow her books, hoping that he would have forgotten about the recent accidents… Meanwhile, Erik had continued playing pranks here and there, despite Antoinette's warnings… Oh well. After all, he was just a little boy who did what every little boy of his age did best: mischief. And somehow, it comforted Antoinette to see that Erik, slowly, was starting to have more of a… normal behavior.

The Roussel girl tried to look as casual as possible as she asked politely M. Reyer if she could borrow some of his books, from time to time… She retained herself from biting her lip when she saw the conductor scratching his head with a embarrassed look, and even more when he said, very gently and politely, that he preferred not…

"But if you want, Mademoiselle, you could ask Professor Valérius, who used to be the conductor, here, and who retired just before you came at the Opera house. His library is much more furnished than mine, and he comes here from time to time… Or no, if you prefer, I'll introduce you to his daughter. I have been told not much later than yesterday that she'll be your piano-player during your ballet practices."

Antoinette, who was of a rather reserved nature, had enough self-control to retain herself from jumping and clapping her hands at the same time. But she thanked M. Reyer with effusion, at a point that the young conductor blushed.

The next day, Clara Valérius was introduced to the ballerinas. She was a girl of sixteen, not much more, doll-like, with a very pale skin, almost too pale, pink cheeks, a little mouth, very big and languishing eyes, and curly blonde hair. Yes, she really reminded Antoinette of a china doll: a china doll you had to hold by the hand delicately or she was to smash on the ground. She was truly beautiful, and for a moment, when she started to play on the piano and that the ballerinas started to dance, Antoinette observed her hands fly over the keys as she played… and for a moment, she wondered who the dancer truly was.

When the practice ended, Antoinette was happy to see that M. Reyer was standing at the ballerinas' practice room door, and that he hadn't forgotten his promise. She remained in a corner, waiting for Mlle Valérius to get out of the room and to encounter the conductor. When it happened, they talked for a moment, and then soon, Antoinette saw that they were looking at her. She lifted up her eyes, towards them, and with a smile, M. Reyer made a gesture to her to come to them.

"Clara, may I introduce to you Antoinette Roussel, the most promising of the new ballerinas?"

"Oh, Monsieur Reyer, please," Antoinette replied, blushing.

"So Léonce has told me you have a certain interest in music and its secrets?" asked Clara Valérius, in a very soft and melodious voice.

"I do," Antoinette answered, trying to look as convinced as possible.

"Well, I must say you will not be the first one who asks Papa for books. There's already a violinist and a cellist who have asked this of him… And now, they come every Saturday night unless there's an opera or a ballet, to talk about music with Papa. Perhaps you will join them one day."

"Maybe," said Antoinette, with a smile as wide as she could make it. _Dear… I hope that won't happen. _

"If you will excuse me, mesdemoiselles," interrupted M. Reyer, "but I really have to go."

"Oh, but Monsieur, there's absolutely no problem," said Antoinette cheerfully. "And thank you for everything!"

When the conductor walked away, the two girls, slowly, started to descent the corridor, and immediately sympathized.

"So you have been here for about a month? Where are you from?" asked Clara.

"I'm from Lyon. I've heard your father used to be the conductor?"

"Yes. When I was a little girl, we travelled from Sweden to come at the Opera Populaire, who had just opened. My father is also a music teacher. It's mainly string instruments."

"Really? Does he have any students?"

"Not anymore… If you don't count Gustave and Jules," giggled Clara. "Well, here they are right now!"

Antoinette looked in front of her, and saw two young boys, of about eighteen, who saw them and waved at Clara, running towards her.

"So how was day one?" asked one of the boys, who was brown-haired.

"It was fine," answered Clara. "Oh, this is Antoinette Roussel, she's a ballerina. And Antoinette, this is Gustave Daaé and Jules Giry."

* * *

This was only the beginning of a long friendship… and perhaps even more.

Antoinette learned to know her three new friends very quickly. Often, after operas or ballets, they would go out together, and it wasn't rare to see them during their days at the Opera. But of course, Antoinette didn't forget Erik…

Clara Valérius was in character a lot like she was in appearance: a soft, kind girl, almost doleful, who didn't have a very strong health. She was melancholic and sensitive. People often teased her gently for that… everyone, except Gustave.

Gustave Daaé was Swedish, just like Clara. But while she was of a very Northern type, with his black hair and his olive skin, he seemed to come more from the southern parts of the Occidental world… Orphaned, it was on the invitation of Professor Valerius, who had taught him violin when he was younger, that he had come to Paris, to become part of the Opera Populaire orchestra. His talent, brought to the light by Valérius and recognized by many, promised him that one day, he would most certainly be the solo violinist of the Opera Populaire.

When he installed himself at Paris, he immediately formed a bond with his teacher's daughter, Clara Valérius. Gustave knew instinctively how to make her smile, and even laugh, which was quite surprising to everyone since Clara was usually shy and rather melancholic. As the young girl grew up, it was more and more clear to her and to her entourage that she was in love with Gustave Daaé… The young man didn't talk much of his feelings, not even to Jules Giry, his best friend… But Clara kept on hoping that, one day…

And Jules…

Dear, it only took a week before Antoinette was sure of it: she was in love with him.

It was rather strange for her. She even had trouble to believe that she actually was in love with him. It had all happened so fast. But Antoinette was at an age where it takes only but a sparkle to descend, or elevate to that level. She loved how teasing Jules was, how his blonde hair was always messy, and if there was one person that was worse of a bookworm than Erik himself, it was him.

Antoinette wasn't shy at all, but she was of a reserved nature. To flirt with him, trying to install some sort of start of relationship with him was absolutely out of topic. She would never do such a thing. Trying to insist on having more of a conversation with Jules seemed still like too high of a step for her.

It was only after a certain time that Antoinette realized that more and more, she was taking care of her own appearance, gazed more at her reflection when she would pass in front of a mirror. When that awareness came, it was, ironically, in front of a mirror. And for long minutes, the young ballerina stared at her reflection, enclosed in the little room where she was, in a strange world where she could see nothing else but her face.

Antoinette had always considered herself as plain. Her hair was as straight, and could only be curled with very complicate techniques; and even then, it didn't last for long. Their color wasn't very appealing either: they were of a very light brown color, almost blonde, but dull. Her traits were irregular, sort of elf-like, but she was pale and had almost no coloration on her cheeks. Her eyes were beautiful, though. She loved their unique green coloration, with the yellow circle around the pupil. But you had to be close to see how her eyes were. If you looked at them from a farther distance, they seemed brown.

To Antoinette Roussel, it seemed impossible that Jules Giry would have the slightest interest in her. He was a piece of sunshine. That was the best way she could describe him. Always in a good mood, he reminded him, especially with his blonde hair, of the statue dominating the Opera Populaire: Apollo and his lyre. Except here, Apollo had a cello. Well… Jules wasn't at all the most handsome man in the world, but for Antoinette Roussel's eyes, blinded by love, he was.

It was while she was bugging after her plainness that suddenly, a half-masked figure made her jump. Antoinette quickly turned to Erik, retaining a gasp.

"Why were you looking at yourself like that?" asked the boy.

"I was just… just…" Antoinette just couldn't tell Erik why she was just staring there. Her whole attitude had been incredibly vain. At least, she could wander around the Opera Populaire and Paris without being tagged as a freak, which wasn't quite the case with Erik, to talk delicately.

"Nothing important, really," Antoinette finally said.

But already, something else had caught Erik's attention. Now, he was gazing himself at the mirror. The ballerina could see that, of course, he was carefully avoiding staring at his reflection. She understood why, though with the mask, the only thing you could see now was the half-bald head. And that alone, it wasn't too terrible.

"Did you know mirrors are magic?" he finally said.

"No," Antoinette answered, wondering what Erik had now imagined.

"When you know how to use them, they can show you anything you want," he simply replied. "Anything… except my face. Mirrors are cruel. They were meant to show beauty, but they have this morbid attraction for ugliness."

Antoinette smiled, somehow touched by the metaphor used by a child so young.

"Not necessarily," she said gently. "Mirrors are objects. You don't need to know how to use them. They're just there. That's all."

To the ballerina's great surprise, Erik frowned, and skimming the wall with his hand, he finally opened a secret passageway.

"Mirrors are magic, Antoinette. They really are. They showed me a monster once. I smashed them. But they bit me. See the scars?" he added, showing his scared hands. "They've been there since."

And without further ado, Erik penetrated the tunnel and disappeared into the darkness, leaving Antoinette alone. For a moment, she stayed there, wondering what had been Erik's life before he had met her.

* * *

**And voilà! Leave a review, he really keeps me going!**

**And by the way… Do Jules Giry, Gustave Daaé and Clara Valérius remind you of people we know? (Yeah, I know, stupid question, I bet you have all guessed it)**


	5. An Author's Note

**Hi everyone! **

**So… it's not that I'm on a case of writer's block, I know where this story is going, and everything, it's just that right now, I'm thinking of seriously going through a re-write of the till-now published chapters of **_**Silent Angel**_**. **

**I'm not entirely satisfied with what I came in until now, and also, I actually just realized how big this thing is. I mean, it covers all the "big" moments between Erik and Antoinette from the moment she finds and saves him, then how Ann' gets married, and Erik goes to Persia and everything, then he comes back to the Opera house, then the events before and during POTO from Meg's POV… Then after… **

**As you can see, this is big. **

**So I'm not abandoning this, don't worry. I just don't know when I'll come back to it. I'm actually pretty busy on **_**Let It Go**_**, I have another angsty/supernatural phanfic that's really bugging me, I'm working on a short 10-chapter-maximum R/C phic… I'm a lot more inspired to write about these, so… here you go. **

**What has been published until now for **_**Silent Angel **_**will be re-written and re-published, but under another title, for the simple and good reason that **_**Silent Angel **_**itself (being really the story of before-during-and-after POTO from Meg's POV) and the Erik-Antoinette story are two different entities. Yes, they go together, but not under the same title. I still haven't found the title for my Erik-and-Antoinette's-past story, but don't worry: you'll recognize it pretty easily. ;) **

**Until the remake of the till-now **_**Silent Angel **_**will be made, this won't be deleted. If you have ideas, let a review! They always help. **

**Thanks a bunch for your continuing support, and sorry for every inconvenience. **

**Wild **

**XOX**


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